Four Weeks to Finish
by seaandshe
Summary: AU S4-5ish. Blair plays detective while oblivious to Dan's attempts to woo her in a month of non-dating dating.
1. Week One

**AN: My first venture in GG fandom~whee! This started out as a practice drabble before I write an epic long screwball fluff story, but now it's exploded to 7,000 words. It'll be a four shot, and should be posted fairly quickly. It'd guess it's 80% written? AU, set series four-ish...no prince.**

**Enjoy! Any feedback is appreciated, thank you much!**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.**

* * *

Blair noticed something was different with Dan. He was being _nice._

Well, that wasn't quite it. After all, Blair Waldorf and Dan Humphrey had come a long way from their days of bickering outside of Constance Billiard. They had both grown up, become more mature, and discovered they, in fact, had a lot in common. More recently, Blair Waldorf and Dan Humphrey had become friends-close friends-who spent time together. She had gotten to know his routines and habits. Dan was always nice to Blair; he just had never been _nice _to her_. _Something changed in the last week, and she didn't have a clue as to what or why.

Everything started on Monday. When they met for lunch, Blair was thrown off-guard. Dan, try as he might, was a sloppy gentleman. He would open the door for her, but it would only be _just _enough to fit through. And when he pulled out the chair for Blair to sit down, he could never get the timing right when he pushed it back in. Inevitably, Blair would bump her tailbone and spend the rest of the meal complaining about it. Dan's heart was in the right place, but he never paid enough attention to do it properly.

However, on Monday, Dan was perfect. It was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, overnight, he had become the consummate gentleman. Dan held the door all the way open so Blair wouldn't scuff her new Birkin on the glass panel. Then, when they arrived at their table, Dan pulled out her chair like usual. Only, when he pushed the chair back in, it was the exact moment she sat down. Dan had never gotten the timing _just _right. But this time it was _exact_. Blair muttered thanks, ordered her food, and pushed the incidents far from her mind.

On Tuesday, she invited him to the visiting Edvard Munch exhibit at MoMA. Blair had a brochure and several articles laid out in front of her, fully prepared to make the argument for Scandinavian expressionism, but instead he simply replied, "I'd been meaning to ask you myself. Meet you in an hour?" She had launched into her practiced speech about the importance of exploring art outside of one's comfort zone before Blair realized Dan had already accepted. He laughed into the speaker. Blair wasn't quite sure what to say after that, so she hurriedly said "fine," and hung up.

When she looked in the mirror minutes later, her eyebrows were still furrowed.

The museum was, if anything, more odd. As they wandered from room to room, Dan chattered on endlessly. He seemed to know everything about Munch's life and work. Each time Blair found herself wondering about the history of a certain painting, Dan seemed to pop up with the answer, often before she had the chance to ask herself. It was rather obnoxious.

"I didn't know you were so interested in Munch," she challenged as they viewed _The Lonely Ones. _She had seen it many times before, and each time she saw it, Blair was taken back. A couple stood by the sea, looking out; the woman unaware of the man's gaze.

"It's a recent curiosity," Dan answered. "You know how it is; you go to Wikipedia to double check Jimmy Stewart's last film, end up clicking on _Harvey,_ and somehow two hours later you're reading about the symbolist art movement."

Blair crossed her arms and pouted. "But, you hate Norway."

Dan just laughed. "How can anyone hate Norway?" he asked. "They're a bunch of peaceful, wealthy polar bears. It's the cold, and you hate it, not me. I _like _the snow." She decided to ignore him.

"You know," Blair said, changing the subject. "I've always liked this painting. It's so sad."

"I guess I've never paid much attention to it," Dan stepped forward to get a closer look.

"Look at our hero," Blair pointed to the man. "He's madly in love with the woman in white, but she's oblivious. Every time I see the painting it's the same; she never notices him."

"I dunno," Dan looked skeptical. "It looks like hope to me. I mean, look how beautiful it is around them. The world is at peace. I think just after the painting was finished, the woman turned around, and realized how in love she is with the man." He scrunched his face adding, "and then they lived happily ever after."

Blair shrugged. "Life doesn't always work out that way."

Dan looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and responded, "too true, Princess." Blair whirled around to question his meaning, but Dan had already walked into the next room. She didn't get another chance to ask that day.

Wednesday found Blair holed up in her bedroom putting the finishing touches on a paper due the next day. The topic was unbelievably dull-the influence of the English Industrial Revolution on the founding of the United States. She had been working steadily all day, refusing every possible distraction from Dorota, but by 3pm, Blair thought her head was going to explode. She needed a break. She was going to ask Dorota to fix her a snack, but stopped when her phone beeped. _Kill_ _me_, it read. Dan had texted her. Dan had _texted _her.

The mere fact that Dan had messaged her wasn't unusual; they talked practically every day. It was odd because _Dan _initiated the conversation. Blair wracked her brain, trying to think of another time he had started an exchange, but her mind came up empty. Their relationship followed a familiar pattern-Blair would message Dan when she was bored, and then they would end up talking about anything and everything for hours. That was just how it worked. Simple. Easy. Dependeable. Blair frowned, wondering if the status quo was changing. The thought was unsettling to her, and she didn't know why. It was just a text message.

Her phone beeped again. _At a meeting with Alessandra and the marketing department. Bored out of my mind. Entertain me? _It was an innocent request, and Blair saw no harm in humoring him for a bit. It would give her the desperately needed break so she could finish her God-awful paper. A win for both of them. She closed her laptop, laid down on her bed, and started typing.

Blair started by telling Dan just how terrible her paper topic was. _If I was writing about the mating habits of amoebae, I'd be more interested. If I, Blair Waldorf, struggle to stay awake during your lecture, something is very, very wrong. _She scrolled through her pictures, and found one from the last session. Blair had turned around and noticed that half the students were slumped on the desks, fast asleep.

_Nice try, but nope, _he wrote back. _The marketing director is trying to convince me that my next novel would really benefit from adding a tween character. To, naturally, attract the tween audience I so richly desire. I win._

Blair giggled, picturing Dan trying to explain why his alternative universe American monarchy novel wasn't the best fit for the Justin Bieber generation. She decided to egg him on. _Maybe a tween isn't such a bad idea after all, Humphrey. I'm sure you can come up with someone perfect. _

_You're on Waldorf. _Before Blair could respond, Dan sent another message. _He's got to have the floppy hair._

_Of course, _she agreed. _And he knows the dances to every pop song._

_But he's not a musician, _Dan concluded.

_No, he's a normal tween,_ Blair typed._ Obsessed with some middle school classmate. _

_Absolutely. She wears braces, her hair in pigtails, and they go on their first date to a Disney concert. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Clearly, it's genius. _

Blair couldn't stop herself from laughing. The more they messaged, the better the visual was in her head. Not only was Humphrey stuck in a terrible meeting, but he couldn't laugh about anything they texted. It was her duty as a friend to make him laugh and ruin the meeting. She took the challenge to heart and forgot her writing until long after dinner.

Dan called after lunch on Thursday, and said, "let's get cocktails tonight. We should celebrate turning in your satanic paper." Blair rolled her eyes, and said there was nothing to celebrate. It was just a paper. But he insisted, which was how she ended up in the lobby of the Empire, wearing a very uncomfortable Zac Posen cocktail dress. The material itched, and Blair had to resist scratching herself; she didn't want _that_ unflattering picture to end up on Gossip Girl's website.

Looking around the hotel, Dan was nowhere to be found, furthering Blair's annoyance. She purposefully left the penthouse late, and she still managed to arrive before him? She had just started to dial his number so she could complain, but Dan came around the corner first. "Sorry," he blurted out, rushing over to her. "I was just washing my hands." Blair narrowed her eyes, and huffed. Dan just laughed, and gently grabbed her hand, uncrossing her arms in the process. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her in awe. "Blair, you look amazing tonight."

She scoffed, but gave him a small smile as she walked past. The compliment made the uncomfortable material much more bearable.

Over the evening, Dan proved himself to be...attentive. Irritatingly so. He managed to push her chair in perfectly, _again,_ and then he wanted to talk of nothing but Blair's horrific paper. "It's really not interesting," she protested. "It's a required class. I don't _actually_ like the subject, Humphrey." But he continued to pester her until she gave him a full summary.

"You may not be interested in American history, Blair, but _I _am," was the excuse. "I might be able to use some of this in my novel." She responded like any other mature adult would; Blair stuck out her tongue.

When their drinks arrived, she tried to get him to tell her more about his meeting the day before, but Dan just waved his hand, smiled, and said, "it went fine, nothing to report."

After a full week of his abnormal behavior, Blair was finished. She was at the loft on Friday, eating popcorn _and her favorite macarons_, watching whatever Audrey Tatou's latest romantic comedy was. Dan sat to her left, lounging comfortably, clearly absorbed in Audrey's antics on the screen. Blair, however, sat on the edge of the couch, her back ramrod straight, and her face tense. Even though this was a film she wanted to watch, she couldn't concentrate. She was preoccupied with trying to understand _something_ from the past week.

There was no reason for Dan to act this way. As far as Blair was concerned, they didn't have any secrets between them. But it seemed like something was off. No, she was _sure _something was off. Something had changed Dan this week, and she needed to know what it was.

On screen Audrey wore a short red dress, with a headband in her hair. Blair watched her finish penning a letter to her true love, and then enlist the 'citizen mail service' to send it-all to the soundtrack of M83. Blair jumped forward to grab the remote and pause the film.

"What happened?" She demanded, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think Audrey has just convinced twenty people to hand walk a letter across Paris instead of just mailing it like a normal person," Dan replied dryly.

"What? Why would she-wait. No," Blair shook her head, her brown curls shifting from side to side. "That's not what I'm asking. What happened to _you _this week? Something is...," Blair twirled her finger in his direction, "off."

Dan looked genuinely confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugged. "It's been like any other week."

Blair crossed her arms, and glared at him. "It _hasn't_ been like any other week," she complained. "You held the door open for me, wanted to invite me to MoMA, texted me _first,_ and," she took a deep breath. "You bought my favorite dessert today."

From the blank stare Dan had on his face, it was clear he thought Blair was out of her mind. "I always do those things for you," he answered slowly.

"But, but, it's _different._" She argued. "You never buy Maison Ladurée macarons," Blair gestured to the box on the table in front of them.

He rolled his eyes. "I was in the area this afternoon; I'm usually not near that bakery, Blair." After seeing the skeptical look on her face he added, "really. Why would I lie about that? As it turns out, Alessandra is a fan of Maison Ladurée too. She wanted to return my chapters with her notes."

Blair's shoulders relaxed a bit. "And you're sure there's nothing else going on?"

Dan scratched his head, trying to think of something, anything, to satisfy Blair. "Oh. Eric is coming for a visit in a couple of weeks. I've been happy about that," he offered.

"Hm," Blair pursed her lips, unconvinced, but pressed play on the film anyways. Dan tapped her on the shoulder, handed her a macaron and told her to relax. She leaned back on the couch, trying to, but she never got into the film. Instead, she spent the remainder of the time looking out of the corner of her eye at Dan, hoping he would give something away. Something that would explain why he had been so _nice. _

He never did.


	2. Week Two

**OMG you guys! I was floored by your response. REALLY. You had such kind words and thank you so much! Just so you all know I'm definitely, definitely, going to finish this sucker. It's been so much fun to write, and to try to figure out Dair. I don't think I'm there, but I'm having fun anyways!**

**I had hoped to get this posted by...uh, Thursday or something, and then it exploded to 5,000 words. AUTHOR FAIL. I wish I could tell you when the 3rd chapter will be posted, but the best I can do is say that 2,000 words are written, and 2,000 words of the last chapter are written. WE'LL SEE WHERE THE FINAL WORD COUNT ENDS UP.**

**Like usual, I own nothing.**

* * *

The next week was, if anything, even stranger.

She wasn't sure, but Blair thought Dan was finding excuses to touch her.

Not inappropriately, of course, and it was never enough for her to make a comment about it because every time she thought Dan was trying to touch her, or brush up against her, he'd move away, and there would be no more contact that day. It was almost like he could read her thoughts, or sense her feelings, because one moment they'd be sitting across from each other at a small table, their knees resting against one another, and as soon as Blair thought, "we're touching," Dan would cough and move away from her. She wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing.

When they met for lunch on Monday, Dan placed a hand on her lower back to guide her to their table. The same table at the same restaurant they've been going to once a week for the last six months. It wasn't crowded, either. When his hand made light contact with her sweater, she let out an involuntary shiver, but didn't say anything. He just gently guided her to their table, and then pulled out her chair. Her mouth gaped open, to which Dan innocently asked, "what?" Blair responded by picking up the menu, covering her reddening face, and declining to engage Humphrey in conversation for a good fifteen minutes.

That night as she got ready for bed, Blair let _His Girl Friday _play in the background. She had just finished a bottle of wine alone, but she had always prided herself on being a conscientious drunk. In her hazzy state she managed to put on pajamas, take off her makeup, and brush her teeth. As she crawled into bed, Blair wondered why she hadn't watched this film in years; the chemistry between whatever Cary Grant's character's name was (Cary Grant?) and Hildy was palpable, the story was entertaining, and best of all, the movie was _funny. _

Maybe it was the bottle of wine in her moderately empty stomach, but Hildy the journalist was _speaking _to Blair. This was a doggedly determined woman who went out and got her story! She worked _hard, _and it paid off in the end! She wrote the story of the year, or week, or whatever, _and _she snagged Cary Grant in the process. Or, Cary Grant snagged her. Blair couldn't be sure of anything after a bottle of wine. Either way, the hero and heroine ended up together, _and _they solved a case. Or wrote a story. Blair couldn't be bothered with the details because the story was _speaking _to her.

Long after the film had ended, Blair sat upright, thinking. If Hildy could figure out what was going on with Cary Grant and the murder, there was no reason Blair couldn't do the same. She had the same career woman ambitions Hildy did. It didn't matter that their fields of interest were different; the principals were the same. Both wanted to be respected by those around them. If after an hour and a half Hildy had resolved her case, Blair ought to be able to do the same.

And that's when the idea came to her.

It was so easy, she was astonished she hadn't thought of it before. Blair rummaged through her desk until she found a small, empty notebook. Whenever Dan had one of his abnormal moments, Blair would merely excuse herself so she could write it down in the book. Then she would have a full record of the peculiar events, and she would be able to figure out what was troubling her friend.

Hildy may have been a journalist, but to understand this mystery, Blair Waldorf would have to become a detective. It was as perfect a plan as she could come up with after drinking an entire bottle of wine, although she suspected her sober self would also think this was brilliant. She felt her body succumbing to sleep, so Blair quickly wrote down the incidents she could remember, vowed to be diligent from then on, and then fell asleep in her bed.

At the Sunshine Cinema on Tuesday, Dan stole the armrest. On its own, it wasn't enough to warrant writing about in her notebook; Dan was selfish and usually stole the armrest. However, on Tuesday, he let his arm graze the side of Blair's body. The instant it made contact, she stiffened, but willed herself not to notice. She wanted to see where things went. Several minutes went by, but nothing happened. Dan was engrossed in the film. Naturally, when Blair looked over at him, Dan lifted his arm to cover a (fake?) yawn.

Blair frowned in the dark, but decided to take control of the situation. She leaned over, far closer than necessary, and whispered in his ear, "going to the bathroom, back in a minute." In the shadow of the projector light Blair could see Dan gulp, which pleased her. Whatever game he was playing with her, she could play right back. It was all part of being a detective. She grabbed her purse and ran out into the lobby. There Blair wrote down: _Tuesday-maintained elbow contact for five minutes, stopped when looked upon. _It all felt very Robert Redford-esque. She waited another minute, and went back to her seat. Dan didn't look up when she returned.

After the film had finished, and the lights had been raised, Blair watched Dan yawn once more before proclaiming, "that was the most dull film I've seen all year. Thanks Waldorf. It's been a long time since I felt like sleeping through a movie."

She looked at him skeptically, and excused herself once more, abandoning Dan in the lobby. She hurried to the restroom, and wrote down a couple more notes. _Tuesday-calculated yawn after the end of the film. Said it was boring, but seemed engrossed in film before/after the 'incident.' _Content with her new notes, Blair returned to Dan, smiled, and left the theater arm in arm once he offered it to her. She made a mental note to write this down later on.

Blair sat at the dining room table early Wednesday morning, looking over her notes from the day before as she ate breakfast. There had to be a pattern and a reason to Dan's odd behavior, but she just couldn't figure it out. She needed more data. And a second opinion.

"Dorota?" Blair called out as she set down her fork. "Have you noticed anything different with Dan recently?" Dorota scurried in from the kitchen with a little flour smudged on her face, busy from cooking.

"Mr. Lonely Boy?" Dorota thought for a moment. "What do you mean, different? Did he finally cut hair? He needs to."

Blair shrugged nonchalant, "no, not in appearance. Although you are correct on that observation, Dorota. No, I just mean _different._ He's been...nicer, and stranger. He's been like this for a couple of weeks, and I don't know why. It's terribly disconcerting, which is distracting me from much more important things."

"I'm sorry Miss Blair, but I don't see anything different," Dorota tapped her nose conspiratorially. "But now you say something, I watch him carefully."

"Thanks," Blair tried to smile, but internally she was frustrated.

"Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing. If it was important, Lonely Boy would say." Seeing Blair's frown at the notebook, she added, "eat. If you are going to play detective and find out secret, you need energy." She pushed the plates of croissants closer to Blair, and went back to work.

Ignoring the pastries, Blair picked up her fork and began picking at the bowl of fruit in front of her. Dorota's second opinion was clearly useless, which meant one thing. She needed more data. Grabbing the _Times_, Blair flipped through the pages until a suitable event was found. She was going to make Dan attend a lecture. Even better was that the lecture was about women's rights in central Africa-just the kind of topic he would be interested in. Blair grabbed her phone and started typing. _Humphrey, cancel your plans for tonight. We're going out. _There. Her directive had been issued. He wouldn't dare defy a Waldorf and decline her invitation. Finding renewed vigor for her breakfast, Blair tried not stare at the clock. She was _not _waiting for Humphrey's reply. She did _not _know it took him 17 minutes to respond.

"What are you talking about Blair?" He sounded sleepy. Blair briefly wondered if she woke him up, and was surprised when her first instinct was to apologize. It must have been a side effect of drinking last night because there was no way she felt sorry for Humphrey. She settled for her next instinct-to insult.

"The real question Humphrey," Blair gritted into the phone, "is why are you still asleep? It's nearly 9:30! Ugh. No wonder Brooklyn is such a mess. Everyone is asleep instead of getting work done!"

Despite the fact they were talking over the phone, Blair was sure she could feel Dan smile. "Alright, you got me," he sighed. "Now what are these plans?"

"There's a very important lecture going on at a theater downtown tonight. It's about women's rights. You're a feminist, I'm a feminist. Therefore, we're going." She kept her words clipped and to the point.

"What time is it?" He asked, sounding resigned. Blair imagined him rubbing his tired face. "I've got other plans in the evening, but this might be a good excuse to get out early."

"It starts at seven," she answered, her voice softening. "What are you doing?"

Dan groaned. "Father and son dinner. Despite the family brunches, the coffee dates and daily phone calls, my father thinks we haven't been spending enough time together because I live in Brooklyn."

"Humphrey, don't be so dramatic. Just get an early dinner with Rufus, and meet me at the theater at six thirty." She gave him the address, and hung up the phone before Dan could refuse or argue.

For some inexplicable reason, Blair was feeling a little nervous as she waited for Dan outside the theater that evening. This realization made her frown. It was _Dan_; no need to be nervous. She was probably feeling that way because she felt guilty about forcing him into attending. Yes, that was it. Although when she thought about it some more, Blair reasoned that there was no actual reason to feel guilty because she _needed _this data. If she could only get more data, she would be able to figure out what was wrong with her friend, and then fix it. Because that's what friends do for each other. She fiddled with her fingers, and decided she would just yell at Humphrey when he arrived.

He was nearly ten minutes late, running across the street through traffic to reach Blair. She thought this was a nice touch, but it still wouldn't excuse his tardiness. "You're late," she called out, feeling uncreative.

"Yeah, well, you know New York traffic," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry."

"I suppose it can't be helped. Not everyone can be perfect," Blair huffed. She pushed her way ahead of Dan and walked in the theater, handing her tickets to the attendant. Dan just laughed and followed behind. "Decorum would require of me to ask how your dinner was," she said dismissively. They stood in the lobby, loitering until the lecture began.

"I believe so, yes," Dan laughed. "Dinner was fine. I went to the penthouse and we had breakfast for dinner."

"Of _course _you did," Blair rolled her eyes, but Dan just shrugged.

"What can I say? Its a Humphrey family tradition, and we're damn good at making waffles." Blair raised and eyebrow and opened her mouth to ask a question, but the lights started blinking. "Come on," Dan said, sliding his hand on Blair's back _again_, "time to take our seats."

"You don't even know where our seats are Humphrey," she protested, but Dan kept his hand steady as he gently pushed her through the crowd.

"That's why you're leading," he countered. "You can tell me where they are." Humphrey's touch was unnerving, and Blair was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything else. She was very aware of his presence, and could smell his cologne as they walked through the crowd. Not that she would ever admit it to him (because he might read something into it when there really, really wasn't anything) but she liked the scent. It was sturdy and safe, like Humphrey.

She felt her eyes widen in surprise at the realization that Humphrey and safe went together in her mind and swallowed. Blair was overwhelmed and turned to run to the restroom, but Dan grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Where do you think you're going?" He smiled. "The lecture is going to start; you don't want to miss this." He gingerly turned her back around, and said quietly, "whatever it is can wait, Blair." She wanted to scream that it really couldn't, but there was a crowd surrounding them and Blair Waldorf would _not _make a scene in public. She forced her body to calm down, smiled hesitantly at Humphrey, and allowed him to escort her to their seats.

Blair was lost in her own thoughts. Humphrey and safe. It just didn't make sense. Sure, they were friends, really, _really, _good friends, but safety had all sorts of implications she just wasn't willing to consider.

Her hallelujah moment came about two-thirds the way through the talk. Blair had been running the facts on a loop in her mind. Dan touching her, Dan being the quintessential gentleman, Dan texting her, Dan being safety. The lecturer on stage flashed a picture of a group of women, and explained that women derive comfort from each other in their community. In the quiet of the theater, Blair reached up and smacked her forehead.

It all made sense. Dan was part of her community. He was her _platonic _safety. There was nothing wrong with that. Now that Blair was thinking about it, she couldn't understand why she hadn't realized this before. They were friends and they _relied _on each other; she on him, him on her. But because she thought of safe and Dan in the same sentence, didn't mean she had feelings for him other than platonic. Blair relaxed into her seat, feeling silly that she missed the first part of the lecture because of her own insecurities. The remainder of the lecture enthralled her, which only disappointed Blair further in herself. She made a mental note to research the topic on her own later.

Blair bounded out of her seat the instant the lecture finished. She ran to the restroom, and hastily wrote _Wednesday - placed hand on back. Detective had momentary panic over the meaning of safety and friendship, but realized confusion was subject's fault. _Satisfied, she secreted the notebook once more, washed her hands (public bathrooms are always disgusting), walked out into the lobby.

Dan was leaning against a wall, waiting patiently for her. As they exited the theater, he was uncharacteristically quiet, always keeping a foot away from Blair. The distance confused her. Only an hour ago, he was guiding her to their seats. He was touching her shoulders, reassuring her. They were friends who sought _safety _with each other; distance shouldn't matter.

As they walked onto the street, Blair grabbed his arm and tried to engage him in conversation. "What did you think of the lecture?" She asked. "I thought our speaker was engaging, and made some good points, but at times it felt like she was personally vilifying us. That it was somehow _our _fault these terrible things are happening, and yes, it's our fault for being ignorant, but I don't think you can use our ignorance to blame us for these atrocities," she chattered on, nervously filling the silence.

He ignored the prattle, instead asking, "are you okay?" His concerned expression wounded Blair, and she let go of his arm, and put the distance back between them.

She took a second, shook out her hair, smiled, and replied, "absolutely. Why wouldn't I be? Now, take me home, Humphrey. I'm exhausted."

"Whatever you say, Princess."

They ran into each other on Thursday at Columbia. Blair was just getting out of her first class of the day, while Dan was running into the library. She spotted him first, striding up the steps two at a time, not paying attention to the surrounding world. He was a man on a mission. Blair shifted the books in her arms, and called out to him. "I wasn't expecting to see you today." She tried to wave in his direction, but dropped a textbook in the process.

Dan looked up startled, but grinned once he saw who it was, apparently letting go of whatever metaphorical space that existed the night before. "Nate asked if I could bring him some lunch. He says he's in 'the zone' and doesn't want to stop studying." He held up a take out bag as he walked towards her.

"What? Nothing for me?" Blair teased. Teasing was okay. It was a totally normal part of being friends. They were good with teasing.

"Nope," Dan shook his head. "Sorry. I reserve my special lunch retrieving skills only for the very best people."

"And I don't make the list?" She batted her eyelashes, knowing full well she was flirting with him, but today Blair didn't care. A little flirting amongst completely platonic male-female friends was to be expected. It would be weirder it they _didn't _occasionally flirt.

Dan stooped to pick up her fallen book. "Well, the board is currently reviewing your application. They hope to have a decision sometime in the next week, and I'll let you know then." He stood up, making eye contact with Blair as he handed the textbook over. Their hands grazed as she received the book. "But, I think they'll vote in your favor."

She would deny it later, but Blair let her hand linger for a moment before saying, "thank you."

It was Dan who broke the eye contact first, saying that he needed to hand off the lunch before Nate called to complain. "It's hard having a best friend," he explained. Blair nodded, understanding. With one last look towards her, Dan ran into the building, leaving Blair feeling strangely cold, even in the warm spring weather.

As she laid awake in bed that night, Blair debated for a long time if she should write about the Columbia meeting in the notebook. In the end, she decided against it. Some things were better left unwritten.

The weekend brought a Humphrey-van der Woodsen fundraiser. Blair didn't know what the fundraiser was for; her mother had simply left a check and a note on the breakfast table that morning ordering Blair to dress up and hand the check to Lily, 'so as to represent the Waldorf family in the best possible light.' As per the norm, Eleanor Waldorf had an early flight to London, and wouldn't be able to make the soirée.

Crumpling the note with her hands, Blair took a deep breath, determined to not let it get to her. She was used to being forgotten by her mother. Unfortunately, it was part of her life. Dorota quietly entered the room and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay, Miss Blair," she said softly. Blair opened her mouth to snap at Dorota, but stopped herself. She settled for nodding, and stuffing her mouth with french toast.

"Your mother left a dress for you to wear," Dorota said, gesturing to a black clothing bag in the corner. "I took a peek; you'll like it." Blair glared at her, and Dotora scurried out of the room. She wasn't trying to be mean to Dorota, but her mother had instantly put Blair in a petulant mood.

Out of protest, Blair didn't look at the dress all afternoon. After breakfast, she dragged the black garment bag up to her bedroom, dropped it on the ground, and proceeded to ignore it for several hours. When Dorota came in to tidy, she scolded Blair for being so childish, and gently placed the bag on a chair. Blair responded by rolling over in bed away from Dorota, and pulling her book closer to her face, determined to snub everything. Once Dorota had left the room, Blair set her book down, and looked at the clothing bag. She frowned at it, and went back to her book.

When the clock struck six, it really was time to get dressed for the evening. Blair had put it off as long as possible, but there was a difference between being fashionably late, and just late. A Waldorf was always the former. Even it it was a fête she didn't want to attend.

Blair frowned and stuck her tongue out at the inanimate object before reluctantly picking up the bag and unzipping it. Her mind was made up. She was going to hate this dress just so she could stew in anger at her mother some more. For everything Eleanor had (not) done, she deserved it. But unfortunately, Dorota was right. The dress was _beautiful._ She had crafted a dress that instantly reminded Blair of the cocktail dress Sabrina wore for her dinner date with Linus. Blair had been obsessed with the dress when she first saw the film as a young girl; she begged her mother to buy her one, but now her mother had made the dress with her own hands.

It was different, of course. Eleanor had modernized the dress, made it shorter, gotten rid of the bows on the shoulders, instead opting for one small bow on the front, but it still had the unforgettable full skirt. Perhaps best of all was that she had chosen a deep purple color. Her ire subsiding, Blair sent a perfunctory thank you to her mother's phone before getting dressed.

The Humphrey-van der Woodsen apartment was already packed by the time Blair arrived. It had been a while since someone of repute had thrown a party, so the UES was overexcited. She imagined the lesser socialites sitting at home, fully dressed, checking the clock every few minutes to see if it was late enough to go.

She wandered around looking for Serena, but ran into Serena's mother first. "Why don't you look lovely this evening," Lily complimented. Blair said thank you, and handed her the check Eleanor left. "I believe Serena is hiding out in the other room. Too many old people out here." Lily smiled and pointed across the vast living room.

Blair made her way through the throngs of people towards the kitchen, but stopped when she spotted Dan. He stood in the corner listening to a middle-aged man Blair had never seen before. She smiled, giving him a little wave. Upon seeing Blair, he froze; his eyes were wide open in surprise, and it was obvious Dan wasn't hearing a word the man said. Blair cocked her head to the side in confusion, but Dan didn't move. Frustrated, she huffed, turned on the spot and strode away, leaving Dan rooted to his spot.

Forgetting Serena for the minute, Blair took a detour to the bathroom, needing to write down the latest of odd incidents. Once safe inside, she locked the door and pulled out the notebook from her clutch. Blair didn't realize it until she started to write, but her hand was shaking and her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She closed her eyes and willed her body to calm down. There was no Earthly reason for her body to be reacting this way. But the way Dan had been looking at her unnerved Blair. Even she could admit that.

She looked over her notes, and tried to come up with a reason for Dan's behavior. There _had _to be one. Friends don't just change overnight unless there's a reason. Even though Blair had mostly memorized them, she read though the notes once more, hoping _this _reading would illuminate something. Almost as if she was struck by lightening, Blair had an idea. And it worried her. But it was the only thing that made sense right now, and she would have to go with it. To help her friend.

Making one last note, she concealed the book, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Other than having a flushed face, Blair looked alright. Turning away from the mirror she took a deep breath, preparing herself for what would happen next. When she was ready, she opened the door and returned to the party. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for Dan. He was over by the stairs chatting with yet another man Blair didn't know.

Steeling her reserve, she started marching across the room. Nothing would stop her. Nothing except-

"B!" Serena called out, and hurried over to Blair. "You look amazing!" She gave her friend a hug and asked, "how are you? I feel like we haven't seen in other in _weeks._" The blonde girl pouted to accentuate her point.

"I'm sorry S, but there's something I've got to do right now. I'll be back in ten minutes, I swear," Blair pleaded. "And then I'm yours for the rest of the night."

Serena looked confused, but smiled anyways. "I don't understand, but I'll be around. You know my mother; I'll never get the chance to escape." Blair said thanks, and continued her march through the mass of people. Dan was now surrounded by a group of scantily clad women. They were probably _fans _of his book. "Gross," Blair said under her breath. She would enjoy this.

Holding her chin up high, Blair walked into the middle of the group, interrupting one of the tarts. "Excuse me," she said icily. "But I need to have a word with Humphrey." She grabbed his hand, intertwined their fingers and dragged him upstairs, not bothering to look back at the (surely) astonished faces of the sluts.

"What are you doing?" Dan asked clearly annoyed, once Blair had found an empty room. She closed and locked the door, ensuring their privacy. "I was having a pleasant conversation there, and you can't just barge in like that Blair!"

"I saved you from those hussies, and you know it," she glared.

"It's not your place!" He argued.

"I just-" Blair started. "I just, _had _to talk to you," she whispered. "And I thought that if I waited, I wouldn't have the courage to do it."

Dan sat down on a bed, and crossed his arms. "Well you wanted to talk, so talk." He gestured toward the empty room.

Blair faltered. "I'm not sure how to say it." Now that the moment was here, she wasn't sure she could go through with it. "You've been weird Dan." He opened his mouth to speak, but Blair stopped him. "Don't deny it. You've been weird. And I've been thinking all night about what is wrong with you because I want to help. So I was thinking all night, and it _just_ came to me." She stepped forward, and picked up his hands, hoping the action would steady herself. "Humphrey, you're not doing drugs, right?" Now that the words were out there, the rest came easily. It was like word vomit. "You just looked so out of it tonight, and it worried me. I thought of all people, you'd understand." She lowered her voice, even though they were alone. "You've seen how Serena was. I don't want that for you. Please tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me you're not doing drugs."

Dan actually had the audacity to laugh, which just worried her even more. He let go of Blair's hands to hold back his laughter, and tried to compose him self enough to answer. "That's what you've been so worried about? No, Blair. I'm _not _doing drugs." She let out a breath of air that she didn't know she had been holding.

Suddenly feeling foolish, she said, "okay, good." She wasn't sure of where to put her hands. They felt awkward hanging at her sides.

"It's my turn now," Dan declared, standing up.

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked uncomfortably.

"You've been running off to the restroom all week, Blair. You're not, you know...?" Dan looked concerned. It took Blair a moment to figure out what he meant.

"No, of course not," she scoffed. "That was a lapse in judgement when I was much younger, and I realize it was stupid and wrong."

"Good. It _was_ stupid, and you're better than that." Dan closed the small distance between them and gently caressed her face. His eyes were warm, and filled with concern for her. Concern, and something Blair couldn't place. It definitely wasn't _safety. _His face silently challenged her to figure it out, but she wasn't ready for that and mentally pushed it aside.

"I know I am." Blair smiled, and let herself touch his hand for a moment before moving away.

"So just to clarify." Dan coughed once. "Neither of us are doing drugs, or, you know," Dan said, shrugging.

"Yes. Neither of us are doing that. Excellent."


End file.
